


Scenes from a Distance

by Princess of Geeks (Princess)



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Established Relationship, Future Fic, M/M, Romance, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-15
Updated: 2010-03-15
Packaged: 2017-10-08 00:24:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/70811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess/pseuds/Princess%20of%20Geeks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story that explores a peaceful future for Jack and Daniel in Washington, kind of an anti-apocafic where peace breaks out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Facing Movements](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16710) by [Paian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paian/pseuds/Paian). 
  * Inspired by [Perfect Distance](https://archiveofourown.org/works/70812) by [Princess of Geeks (Princess)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess/pseuds/Princess%20of%20Geeks). 



When Daniel emerges from the shower, he finds Jack in the kitchen of the Bethesda townhouse, wearing a t-shirt and plaid boxers, drinking coffee and paging through the Saturday morning _Post_, which is spread out on the bar. His legs are tanned. He looks rested. Daniel smells warm butter and toast, but there's only crumbs on a plate at Jack's elbow, and also two banana peels.

Jack looks up and smiles, a little tentative.

"I, uh," he says, as Daniel finds a mug and pours himself some coffee, "I have a standing tennis date on Saturday mornings; I could cancel it, or you could come along."

"I don't play tennis," Daniel says, surprised. Neither had Jack. This is new. But then, it's that kind of weekend, isn't it?

He finds that he's lighter than he was yesterday, when he was last here, standing in this kitchen after dinner, washing dishes and wondering about keys and mysteries. He looks around, noticing the look of the room by daylight -- the gleaming surfaces, the often-washed dishtowels, the way it feels used and lived in. His kitchen in the Springs does not feel like this. He sips his coffee, conscious of its perfect mild bitterness, of the smooth warmth of the mug under his fingers. He's also very conscious of the faint itch of beard burn on his lips and his chin, of the new tug of stretched muscles, of the distant ache in his ass. He's somehow lighter, as if the lovemaking raked something out of him, or erased something that had been clinging to him. Or perhaps a good fucking can counteract the drag of gravity. In any case, he realizes, he feels scrubbed. Empty. It's a good feeling.

"I know, but you could watch," Jack is saying. He's still talking about tennis. His voice is carefully neutral, like he has no idea how Daniel is going to react to any given thing he says. He's holding his mug carefully, cupped in two hands.

It's like every morning-after with this man Daniel has ever lived through, in a way. They are always cautious on those mornings, and extra polite. Careful with each other, understanding how much is being risked, emotionally and professionally. Daniel puts his head to one side, pondering. He replays the things Jack said to him in the night, tasting them along with the coffee. Jack loves him. Jack wants to make it right. Jack has -- impossible, yet true -- invited him to move in here. Jack is standing there in his underwear, drinking the coffee and reading the paper. Yet, this is a Jack he really doesn't know, a Jack he's never seen before on any of the mornings-after. He's not used to a Jack who is this open, this ... vulnerable. And comfortable with being this vulnerable. He finds it makes him want to take a step toward tenderness, in his turn. He doesn't want to punish Jack for the things he's said, the declarations he's made, despite how angry he was last night.

On this morning-after like no other, Jack, this Jack who says he loves him, has invited Daniel to join him in one of his new routines, to meet someone he's used to spending time with, in his new life. Daniel is willing, he finds, to meet him halfway. He searches internally for his anger, his resentment. In the clear light of morning, in Jack's welcoming kitchen, Jack's coffee warm in his mouth, he can't find even a trace of it.

Other mornings, distant mornings, in their past, petty revenge, moodiness, passive-aggressiveness as a salve for too much exposure, too much revealed in bed, seemed satisfying, even necessary. And there were other times when cruel teasing was almost the only satisfaction Daniel had.

But not today.

He rounds the island that contains the cooktop and watches Jack go still, wondering what he's about to get. Daniel puts a hand on Jack's shoulder and steps in close and kisses him, just a tender, brief good-morning kiss. Jack kisses him back, closing his eyes while their lips press and catch, and then opening them to watch Daniel as he straightens and pulls away. Jack's a little wary, doing a bit of assessing. Daniel can almost hear him thinking, _"He's always been a moody son of a bitch."_

"That should be fine," Daniel says, looking agreeable.

"It's outdoors; I don't think you'd be able to see the laptop very well."

"I won't bring it, then. I do have a lot to think about." Jack half smiles, then, and drains his coffeecup and sets it on the bar and disappears down the hall. In a minute Daniel hears the shower.

Jack's standing tennis date happens at a nearby country club, and Amy, it turns out, is Mrs. Amy Vidrine. The general's wife. Daniel reminds himself of Jack's speech in the car the previous evening. There are new rules being written, and Daniel is willing to follow them and see where they lead. Jack's out, but not at work. Check.

Jack and Daniel are early, and Jack warms up a little and stretches, and Daniel climbs up into the stands, all before Mrs. Vidrine emerges from the locker room. Daniel sits on a perfectly whitewashed bench, halfway up and over to one side, and leans his elbows on his knees and watches Jack bounce the ball with his racket. Jack tells his partner something, and she listens, a hand over her eyes as she turns to where Daniel is sitting, and she waves at him. Daniel waves back. Jack gets ready to serve. The line of courts is busy, but not crowded. There is a children's lesson going on, on the court at the far end. It's bright, but the early autumn air is pleasantly warm. Jack is wearing his sunglasses.

Mrs. Vidrine is slim and still, no fidgeting, as she waits for Jack's serve. She's wearing a very traditional snow-white tennis dress. She, undoubtedly through familiarity with her partner's MO, waits in the perfect to spot to return the serve, and does, and starts a short rally, and springboarding from there, she proceeds to methodically kick Jack's ass, three games in a row. She's lefthanded, and she has a forehand return that makes Jack swear out loud and then apologize for swearing, every time. Daniel watches, and smiles.

They take one break, after the third game, and Daniel comes down, feeling that it's rude to sit there, so silent and distant, although he really doesn't feel like socializing. As Daniel approaches, Jack wipes his face on a towel and drinks water out of a bicycling squeeze-bottle. Mrs. Vidrine has brought cold red Gatorade, and she changes her soaked wristbands before she shakes Daniel's hand.

"You remember Daniel?" Jack says. He is a little out of breath. Mrs. Vidrine frowns.

"It was a lot of cocktail parties ago," Daniel says, apologetically.

"Of course I remember. You work in Colorado, part of Doug's program with the stealth planes and associated other classified things," she smiles. She's mild and impeccably polite, but Daniel can see the wheels turning behind her dark eyes. Her hair is curly and only slightly peppered with gray above her sweat band, but up close Daniel can see the crow's feet.

"That's right," Daniel says. He makes himself smile. It's not her fault that any mention of her husband always brings up some ... unique ... memories for Daniel.

Jack drops his towel and adjusts the strings on his black metal racket. "Okay. I'm gonna break your serve this time or die trying. I'm warmed up now, so watch out."

"In your dreams, old man," Mrs. Vidrine says, and she grins at Daniel and jogs back to her end of the court. Jack does break her serve once, and aces her twice, which makes him cheer and put his fist in the air, but she still wins both of the final two games they play.

Daniel climbs down again and waits while Jack pulls his sweatpants on over his shorts. The general's wife replaces her gear in her bag and reaches out to shake Daniel's hand again.

"Do you play, Dr. Jackson," she says.

"No, no, I'm more of a team sport person, myself."

"Soccer?"

"No, no, just a little basketball. We have an informal league at, uh, work."

"That sounds like fun," she says.

"Sometimes we play doubles here with Doug," Jack says. "And Davis. When he's ... around. The more the merrier."

"No kidding?" Daniel says. Paul Davis is a colonel now, and often off world, still attached to the Jaffa alliance. Daniel had had no idea that he and Jack had kept in touch.

"Daniel went to Moscow with Davis once," Jack says, fiddling with his sunglasses.

"I imagine you could tell a lot of stories about that," Mrs. Vidrine smiles, and Daniel smiles back at her, unable to prevent his shiver at the mention of Moscow. Which, he knows, is, in reality, still there. They say their pleasant goodbyes.

"You want to shower? I don't mind waiting," Daniel says, putting his hands in his pockets, watching Mrs. Vidrine stride off toward the women's locker room. The next players are already claiming the court. Jack glances at his watch.

"No, I can do that at home -- because we should swing by the Ramada; return the key before twelve."

"Oh, yeah. I'd forgotten about that."

"Good," Jack says, the corner of his mouth quirking, and he picks up his bag and leads the way back to the car.

They eat some sandwiches for lunch, nothing fancy, and spend the afternoon in companionable silence, reading, sprawled in Jack's small but nicely proportioned living room. All the furniture there is new, and vaguely Danish Modern. The room has a woodburning fireplace, and the afghan that Jack's grandmother crocheted for him decades ago is folded on the back of the sofa, as it was in the house in the Springs. Daniel notices that the color scheme of the carpet, the upholstery and the prints on the walls, seems to be based on that afghan.

It's nice, to sit and read and know that no phone will ring, no alarms will sound. That he won't be interrupted. Sometimes he looks up to find Jack watching him. He just smiles, and goes back to his journal.

Before dinner they take a walk around the neighborhood, and Daniel gets introduced to all the dogs. Jack cooks again -- spaghetti with meat sauce, this time. And tossed salad out of a bag.

They're eating the chocolate walnut ice cream that they didn't get around to the previous night, and drinking coffee, and Daniel toys with his spoon and says, "Let's go back to the Halo. Now that I'm not crushed by astonishment, I think I'd like to see all that again."

Expressions chase each other across Jack's face, too quickly to be logged.

"All right," he says.

This time Daniel decides to change clothes, and he shaves again. He puts on a pair of chinos and an Oxford cloth shirt that he knows brings out the blue in his eyes. He makes sure the buttons on the collar of the shirt are buttoned. He turns up the cuffs. He transfers his belt from the jeans he was wearing on the plane to his chinos' belt loops. He puts on his watch.

Jack has dressed up a little, too, Daniel notices, and he showered again, and shaved as well. Daniel smiles as he notices Jack's gaze rake him up and down, when he comes out of the guest room where his clothes are. They drive back to Dupont Circle. They park in the same lot. Jack locks the car and meets Daniel as he comes around the corner of the Jaguar. He takes Daniel's hand as they turn toward the parking booth, linking their fingers. A jolt of lust runs down Daniel's legs at the feel of Jack's firm, long fingers twining with his. He inhales, and lets it out slowly. He glances at Jack, and Jack is smiling. They walk. Their steps synch up. It feels natural. Easy.

It hits Daniel -- here they are, in the city, in public, walking, and holding hands. A little panic chases the ebbing electricity through his belly. Years of schooling himself not to forget, not to reach out for Jack, not to touch him. Jack, he always felt, was macho enough to get away with all the affectionate pats and hugs in public, all those years. Jack was always scrupulous not to touch Sam very much, but Daniel (and Teal'c, if memory serves) had always gotten the benefit of his physical affection. Even in the bad times, even when Daniel and Jack were fighting, even when they'd mutually agreed to try to cool it.

But Daniel was always so, so conscious of the rules. He'd ruthlessly and strictly compartmentalized bedroom Jack away from colonel Jack, from commander Jack.

_My god,_ he thinks, looking down at their hands, feeling gravel crunch under his dress shoes, _I don't know how to do this._

Jack lets go of his hand to pull out his wallet and pay for the parking. Then he takes it again as they head up the sidewalk to Jack's club. Jack glances at him, and his lips twitch.

"You're freaking," Jack says. Daniel wants to laugh.

"It's just.... You know. We've literally never done this before. It feels ... really nice and really weird." Daniel swings their hands a little, to show Jack what he's talking about. He tries to look ahead, and to explore Jack's presence next to him, Jack's hand in his, solely through his peripheral vision.

_Freaking._

Jack's voice is reassuring. "We can hold hands here. This is as close to a gay ghetto as there is in Washington."

"Whatever you say, general."

"Ha ha. Now you're just trying to scare me, holding my rank over my head. Well it won't work, Doctor Jackson. Get with the program, why don't you. Anthropology 101."

"Participant/observer," Daniel mutters. _God in heaven. Jack, making archaeology jokes. Yeah, I'm freaking._

Then they're inside, and Jack's paying the cover before Daniel can think fast enough to pull out his credit card and try to foot the bill for the evening. He's quicker at the bar, though. He hands over the plastic and tells the bartender -- a different man tonight, who also knows Jack's name -- that he'd like to run a tab, please.

Drinks in hand, they sit at a tall table by the dance floor, and watch the crowd. Daniel thinks about it again -- the reality of where they are. It has been ... god, decades ... since he's set foot in a bar like this. Everything's probably different now, he assumes, since his grad school days. Probably, yes, just about exactly everything.

He's pondering the changes in Earth's culture, in U.S. culture, that he's been mostly ignoring, consumed as he generally is by his off world adventures and peril, all these years, and so he starts when someone approaches their table. Jack feels his surprise and lays a warm, grounding hand on his knee.

"Good to see you, Jack," the man says, leaning in and kissing Jack. It's still surprising, striking, and, Daniel has to admit, a little arousing, to see this typical, ordinary greeting between friends.

"Allen," Jack is saying. "I'd like you to meet Daniel Jackson."

Daniel smiles and extends his hand, and Allen shakes it. He scoots onto the third barstool, confident of Jack's welcome. He grins. He's forty-something, Daniel judges, and handsome and dark-haired. He looks like an executive.

"I'm assuming this guy is the reason I've been getting the stiff arm from you, O'Neill, for all these months?"

Jack laughs, easily, not offended, seeming genuinely amused, as far as Daniel can tell, and Jack takes a drink of beer. Daniel glances from Jack to Allen, and feels like he's been dropped into an improvisational play.

_What the hell,_ he thinks, and tries to find his balance. "Yeah," he answers, smiling at Allen, glancing at Jack, and then deliberately flashing the big smile. "I'm the mysterious boyfriend from out of town. That's me."

Allen laughs and clasps Daniel's shoulder, shaking gently.

"I'm glad to know you're real! 'Cause my ego was really suffering. And I gotta tell you, Jack, if it had to be someone else, well, I see your reasoning now. But you're still breaking my heart."

Laughs all around, and Allen orders a drink from a passing waiter, and they talk about ... hockey. Allen's nagging Jack to join the amateur league he's in, and Jack's claiming he still doesn't have the time, a conversation that Daniel gathers they've had many times before. Daniel sips his drink, and listens. The conversation turns to pro hockey.

Another man approaches, and cheerfully drags Allen onto the dance floor, with cheerful egging on from Jack, and Daniel turns to him. He's not drunk yet, but he's feeling the vodka. He looks around, once again letting the reality of the place sink into him. He feels amusement, amazement bubbling up. Jack is regarding him, waiting.

"I admit I'm intrigued," Daniel says, "by the idea of mapping the outlines of your new life here. What next -- do we spend a weekend in, where, San Francisco?"

Jack seems amused. "Maybe." He's grinning.

"Take the BF to Key West?"

"Fishing! Yeah!"

"West Hollywood?"

"Nah, not hip enough. Plus, performance art. Please." Jack grimaces, and he's making a joke. Daniel wants to chuckle. He suppresses it, thinks about the last time he was in L.A. Again, an age ago.

"Not young enough, either, I'm imagining.... It's just... I'm still having a very hard time wrapping my mind around this. Is there really such a thing as a partial closet?"

"Yeah there is," Jack rests his elbows on the table. He looks way too relaxed, way too happy. It's not something Daniel's seen very often, Daniel realizes, except in Minnesota, out in the woods, in private. Jack and 'relaxed' don't often go together.

"But at the moment, we're not in it," Daniel concludes.

"No; at the moment, we're in a place where it's great to be gay." Daniel detects only a little of the sardonic in Jack's statement. But. Still strange, to hear that word, out loud, from this man. Daniel thoughtfully leans over and takes Jack's hand, atop the table. Jack's hand is warm and responsive in his.

Once again, the risky forbidden gesture triggers his _Careful: Danger_ reflex. He notes the reflex, lets it ebb. He looks at their joined hands. He loosens his grip, to run his fingers over Jack's knuckles, one after the other. Then, he returns to the first knuckle; starts over, and circles each knob of bone, gently, with the tip of his middle finger. He turns Jack's unresistant hand over, flattens it against the table surface, and strokes the palm, strokes down each finger. He doesn't hurry.

"You're giving me a hardon," Jack says, grimacing. He's almost complaining. Almost. But he doesn't pull his hand away.

Daniel relents, and links their fingers, again, on top of the table. He sips his vodka tonic with his free hand. He looks down at their hands again, then glances at Jack's calm face. He's had his tongue in Jack's ass. They've exchanged bodily fluids, and that recently. They've shared nearly every kind of sexual intimacy Daniel can think of.

And yet never until tonight has he sat in a public place and held Jack's hand -- a thing any horny teenager of any sex can take for granted.

He wonders what Jack was like as teenager. He smiles to himself, feeling that he was being very cheerleader-girlfriend, girlfriend of the quarterback, today, sitting up there in the stands at the country club, watching Jack play tennis. He wonders what Amy Vidrine made of his presence.

Is that fair? Assigning himself and Jack those roles? His own teenage years felt so different, odd, so isolated, marked as they'd been by personal solitude and his foster-care moves from family to family. History had been his best friend, not real people in his present day. Not until grad school had he really felt he'd fit in anywhere. In grad school, he'd felt at home. Until, of course, his theories had returned him to his familiar status as a pariah.

He has a feeling Jack's teenage years had had a Norman Rockwell quality, compared to his own, although he really has no idea. He can easily picture Jack in high school, because of having met Jack's clone. But all he knows, really, is what Jonathan was like, not what Jack was at that age, without all that adult knowledge. He ponders that -- this Jack, at 18, inexperienced, all nerve and potential. He lets his eyes trace Jack's face, as his fingers had just traced Jack's hand.

Jack is sitting there, letting Daniel hold his hand, while looking peacefully out at the dance floor. He looks back to pick up his beer, and meets Daniel's eyes, his gaze steady. His face is expressionless, but his eyes are tender.

Daniel holds the gaze, and too soon, finds he has to look down first.

"Crap, I'm blushing," he says.

"Gotcha," Jack returns, pleased, and looks at the dancers again. "Let's blow your mind some more. It's good for you. Expands your horizons a little."

He slides off the barstool without letting go of Daniel's hand, and so Daniel has to either get up and go with him, or let go. And Daniel -- no surprise at all -- doesn't want to let go.

Jack's touched him in public in the past, of course. Put an arm around his shoulders, patted him, hugged him, carried him when necessary. But this is so far beyond weird that Daniel doesn't have a word for it. Jack steers them to the dance floor, and he lets go of Daniel's hand, but only to put both his hands on Daniel's hips. Daniel's smile is incredulous, but he slides his arms around Jack's shoulders. Usually when they're in this position, they're horizontal and naked.

It feels formal, yet exposed. Daniel can't remember the last time he danced with anyone, welcome-rituals on friendly planets aside. Jack slides closer, until their bodies are touching, chest and thighs.

"Is that Bob Seger?" Jack mutters, close to Daniel's ear, wincing. Daniel feels the wince against his temple.

"I hope not," Daniel says, but he's pretty sure it is. "At least it's slow." _Oldies night at the Halo. What next._

"We should come back on a Tuesday. Tuesday is jazz night."

"You're kidding," Daniel says, and Jack has pulled him even closer and they're dancing. For real. He realizes he's holding his breath and he lets it out. He relaxes into the thumping beat, and turns his head, nuzzling Jack's ear as they sway and turn gently to the driving, slow music.

"What?" Jack says, and pulls back enough to check Daniel's eyes. Then he draws close again.

Daniel doesn't answer, caught up in trying to analyze how this feels. It's the exposure, the public-ness of it that is so strange, he finally decides. They keep dancing, turning gently. Men, holding each other close, are all around them. The air conditioning is cool. The lights are soft. What they're doing, in the context of this place, is unremarkable. It's not the kind of bar where men perform frottage on each other in the booths, but Daniel's pretty sure there might be sex going on in the restrooms, though he hasn't seen them for himself. He glances at the other dancers. No one is watching them at all, or if others do watch, it's only for a moment, their glances sticking and then sliding away. The two of them definitely look like a couple, Daniel concludes. Therefore, anyone who's here trying to hook up will not pay attention, past making that judgment, and that is, of course, why most people come here -- to pick someone up. He catches sight of Allen, holding someone close, dancing intently, his eyes closed. He returns his attention to Jack; Jack, whose familiar lean frame is pressed against his. He adjusts his arms around Jack's shoulders.

They sway together, and Daniel is not conscious of someone leading, which is a possible point of contention, in the future, he supposes. It makes him smile. The song ends, and he steps back, but finds as he does that Jack's hand is in his again.

Holding hands, they walk back to their table.

Jack has gone pensive, sipping his Heineken and looking around the room, and it's on the tip of Daniel's tongue to ask him what he's thinking about, but he remembers mentally assigning himself the cheerleader role to Jack's quarterback a few moments ago and the question dies on his lips.

When it was just sex, he ponders, following Jack's gaze out to the dance floor, he didn't have to think about the implications, beyond, of course, the risks to Jack and the constant, acidic fear of being found out. He could keep all his feelings and his emotions in the bedroom, and he never had to worry about anything else. To him, it felt as if they had no relationship to manage. They just worked together; they were colleagues. And they tried to be friends. And they fucked.

It was hard. Okay, yeah, massive oversimplification. Willful denial of the fights, the pain.... It really is different now? Jack... last night Jack said he wanted it to be different. Is there a way into the future here? _ Different. Clarity. Balance._

Being in a gay bar with Jack is ... different.

Daniel taps Jack on the wrist, and lets the tap turn into the gentle stroke of a finger, and Jack takes his hand from the side of his beer bottle and turns it palm up and captures Daniel's hand. It makes Daniel catch his breath -- surprise, a sparkle of lust, and other feelings, swimming just underneath.

Jack looks at him, receptive, eyebrow up. Daniel leans in a little to talk; the music is getting louder as the minutes tick by. More people are dancing; the music is getting newer.

It feels risky, to ask this. "Earlier you said you wanted to make it right. What does that look like to you? What did you mean by that?"

Jack looks down at their hands, and in his turn, he strokes quiet fingers over Daniel's skin. His voice is quiet, too, but pitched to carry through the music.

"You always used to rag on me, when I would pull back, when I couldn't ... be who you wanted me to be. You had this speech about balancing duty with my personal life. You always used to accuse me of putting duty before people."

"Yeah. I did." Daniel is about to elaborate, to talk about how that felt, that it felt that Jack was putting duty before everything -- making following orders an end in itself. But Jack isn't finished, and Daniel wants to hear this. He closes his lips, and raises his eyebrows. Jack, he knows, notices that Daniel has cut himself off in favor of listening.

Jack keeps up the gentle touching. It's distracting. It goes right to Daniel's dick. He tries to concentrate on Jack's voice. "That was never true, and I think you knew that. But I had a lot of baggage about the gay thing, and about the program. Being away from you has given me a lot of time to think. And I think I see how it can be done, now. I'll never give up duty, Daniel, even if I retire--"

"I wouldn't ask you to." It's a feeble protest.

Jack pins him with a glare, and Daniel subsides. "Some years, duty was all that kept me alive, and you know that, too. I'm not going to argue about that now... But now.... I think I see a way to, like you used to say, balance it all." Jack squeezes his hand hard, and meets his eyes directly. His gaze is intense. Daniel wants to look away. He manages to hold Jack's eyes. "I want you to live here, when we find the right time for that, given the needs of the program. I want you to live with me. Things are changing now, since the Ori thing. I don't want to get into that, or talk about work too much; this weekend is partly about giving you the break you deserve, but I wasn't just blowing smoke last night."

Then Jack covers both their hands with his free one, and -- sheer astonishment boils up through Daniel's torso -- he leans in and kisses Daniel, right there, right there in the bar. Daniel knows it's no big deal, objectively, gay ghetto, all that, but he's still stunned. Bedroom Jack? But yet, not.

Jack's looking at him again, all dark eyes and seriousness. Daniel licks his lips. He feels dizzy.

Jack says, "I meant it, everything I said. I love you, Daniel. I want you here, or, just as good, eventually I'll retire and come back there. I want this. I don't want it to be buddy fucking, or stress relief, or pure unadulterated escape."

Jack's so calm, like he's been thinking about this for months, which Daniel supposes he has. All Daniel's words are gone. Well, not quite all.

"I love you, too, Jack," he manages to blurt, and Jack smiles. It's like sunshine, like spring and cherry blossoms and blue skies and sweet music.

"Let's get out of here," Jack says, after a moment during which Daniel is astonished all over again at himself, "before I'm tempted to do you right there on the pool table."

Daniel can't help but laugh. It's crazy, it's impossible, it makes him hot. Not that Jack would really do it, but that Jack would think that, say it.

All the way to the door, Jack keeps his arm around Daniel's waist.

They're quiet, walking back to the car. It's threatening rain, now, and they walk quickly. In the Jaguar, driving home, Daniel puts his hand on Jack's knee, and watches his profile. Simple things. Such simple things -- touches, and the word "boyfriend." The word "love."

They get back inside the dimly lit kitchen, and Jack turns him and pushes him against the humming stainless steel refrigerator and pushes his body against Daniel's and kisses him, long and slow and deep, and shoves his pelvis against Daniel's so that Daniel can feel him getting hard.

"You said it," Jack murmurs, between kisses. Daniel is getting breathless, his hands roaming Jack's back, seeking a way under his shirt, distracted by the curve of his ass. "You said it, too."

Daniel understands a prompt when he hears one.

"I love you, too, Jack. I think I always have."

"Sweet talker," Jack growls, and then he's pulling back, and grabbing Daniel's wrist so that he can lead Daniel, once again, into his bedroom.

All his urgency seems to disappear, though, when they're lying on the bed. They get out of their clothes, and turn down the covers, interrupted repeatedly by the need to touch, to stroke, to kiss. They're finally naked. Jack runs his hands over Daniel's skin, sucks on his nipples, licks his erection. He takes his time, and Daniel pets him, running his palms lightly over all that warm skin. Jack gets up on his knees and finds the lube in the headboard.

"You too sore? I could turn-about, if you want." He's straddling Daniel's thigh, and Daniel has one hand on the tight curve of his buttock. Daniel moves his other hand to press his erection against Jack's leg, rubs it a little, enjoying the warmth and the friction.

"No, this is good. I want to bottom again. It's good," and Jack is smiling, as Daniel talks, and he turns and gets between Daniel's legs. He waits, watching Daniel's face as he squeezes the tube and smears it on his fingers, warming it a little. Daniel hitches, getting comfortable, his hands on Jack's hips, and opens his legs.

"God, you're gorgeous," Jack says. "I miss you; I never get tired of thinking about this."

Daniel grins, and he shifts his weight, raising a calf to Jack's hip, inviting, and Jack leans over him and puts warm slick fingers against his ass and presses. Daniel's eyes close, and he pushes, letting Jack in, feeling it, reveling in the intensity.

"God, Daniel," Jack says, and Daniel can't answer, or, more accurately, he can't answer in words. He lets his body answer for him, rocking and urging until his ankles are on Jack's shoulders and Jack is inside him, deep and hard and wanted, and Daniel only opens his eyes, his hand gently squeezing his own cockhead, because he wants to watch how much Jack loves making him come.

^^^^^

That fall they manage to meet once at the cabin and once in the Springs. They talk alot about Atlantis, what's going on there. How they both miss Sam.

For Thanksgiving, Jack invites Daniel to Washington. This time, when they get home from the airport and pull up in the short driveway, approaching the small garage, Daniel notices that Jack has installed a basketball goal on a pole in the tiny strip of grass that is his side yard. One offhand comment, weeks ago, to Jack's tennis partner, and this is the result. Daniel is surprised at how touched he feels.

It was a little awkward, making the arrangements for Thanksgiving. Mitchell had asked him, again, to go to his grandmother's in Tennessee, and he took Daniel's demurral in stride, but moaned comedically at the thought of taking Vala with him again, since that turned out so great when she came along to his reunion in Kansas. Daniel knew Mitchell's bitching was all a big joke, though, and responded accordingly.

So Daniel has come to Bethesda, and Jack says his plan is to roast a turkey breast, since it's just the two of them. They spend Wednesday shopping, and Thursday morning cooking, and Daniel attempts a couple of Middle Eastern dishes he used to like, reading out of a newly purchased cookbook. The complicated rice dish is heavenly; the eggplant, not so much. It's a very eclectic meal. There's pumpkin pie for dessert.

Afterward, they loll on the sofa for awhile, football on television with the sound down, then pull on coats and go out to the new basketball goal on the driveway, and play a little. They are both extremely competitive. And soon, sweating.

Jack is standing, poised, at the spot where the free throw line would be, if there were any painted lines, and he's holding the ball, aiming his shot, and he says, "I guess you can't wear a ring at work, can you."

Daniel is waiting for the rebound, the argument Jack had launched over how Daniel had deliberately fucking fouled him and thus Jack deserved not one but two free throws, still reverberating in the air over the driveway. "I beg your pardon?" Daniel says.

"You probably can't wear a ring on base," Jack says, explaining his previous statement, and he steps and pushes and the ball sails through the chilly air and swishes through the net. Daniel, stunned, lets it bounce away. Jack stands there, still talking. About something totally impossible. "People would ask you about it. And knowing you, you wouldn't want to lie to them."

"I don't... Do I? Understand? Are you talking about a wedding ring?" Jack has turned to chase after the ball, which has bounced along the driveway and is about to roll into the street.

"Or two," Jack says, and he's trying for matter of fact, but he's industriously dribbling now, right hand, then left, not looking at Daniel.

Daniel gapes at him. Jack stops dribbling, and holds the ball in two hands, and then parks it under one arm, on his hipbone.

"Well?" he says, finally scanning Daniel's face. "This _is_ permanent, isn't it?"

Daniel's eyebrows are eloquent. Jack waits him out. Finally Daniel says, "Yes, for me it's certainly permanent."

Jack nods, and he gets two hands on the ball and pushes it toward Daniel, an aggressive pass. Daniel instinctively catches it, his palms stinging. Vala and Mitchell have trained him well.

" 'Love is stronger than death; jealousy cruel as the grave,' " Jack is saying, and it sounds meditative. He's approaching, has his hands up, waiting for a pass. Daniel shoots him the ball.

"Song of Solomon," Daniel says, still stunned. Jack shrugs. He bounces the ball twice, then catches Daniel's eye, ready to pass again.

"Few people get such a literal illustration of the truth of that, in their lives," Daniel muses, catching.

"You always were a curve buster."

Daniel shakes his head. "This may be the most surreal conversation I ever had." He shakes his head again, clearing it, sucking in a lungful of the humid air. He judges the distance, bounces the ball, and takes three steps and sinks a layup. Jack catches the ball as it leaves the net, and he's still talking. Daniel folds his arms.

"So. Permanence. Check." Jack shoots, and Daniel watches the ball swish through the net, and Daniel snags it on the first bounce, this time. "And monogamy's good, right? Although in the past I've found it challenging."

Daniel is getting more and more amazed. He dribbles down the driveway, dribbles halfway back, and passes Jack the ball. Jack tries a layup, misses. The ball bounces into the dwarf nandina bushes along the front walk. Daniel lets it lie there for a minute. He's watching Jack.

Jack seems to be pondering, one fist on his hip. "Yes, definitely in the past I've been less focused on that than I am now." He looks up, meets Daniel's stare, and beckons, wanting the ball. "I guess if I'm not going to be a hypocrite, I'd have to say monogamy is negotiable, but I think I'm in favor of it."

Daniel's eyes are wide, but he turns and digs the basketball out of the bushes and lobs it to Jack, high and soft. Jack catches it, dribbles.

It is so hard to make this real, to accept Jack, saying these things. Daniel's had a few weeks of funny postcards and "Love you's" on the phone, but still. Jack? Communicating? Offering? Planning things involving ... relationships? Permanent relationships?

"Monogamy is good," Daniel squeaks, watching Jack shoot, and then he's running for the ball as it bounces off the backboard, grabbing it before it goes in the bushes again. "It's pretty much my default state, I think, with or without commitment."

Jack looks his way, and Daniel passes him the ball, and Jack catches it, bounces it absently, lefthanded. Daniel admires, all over again, Jack's thoughtless instinctive athleticism. Basketball isn't really his game. Yet he can play it, as well as Daniel, and Daniel's studied it, practiced it, because the team wants to have something that's theirs. It was important to Mitchell, and Daniel cared about Mitchell, and so he learned.

"Okay, then," Jack says, satisfied, and he shoots again, and scores.

^^^^

Daniel is in the shower, sluicing the mud of P4X-331 off his face and neck, when Mitchell yells for him.

He pokes his head around the divider, frowning at Mitchell, who is still dressed, and agitated. And muddy.

"Landry wants you! Right now!"

"Right now?" Daniel says.

"It's Washington, was all he'd say."

Daniel kills the shower, towels mud and brown water from his skin. Mitchell hasn't showered yet; he'd come straight from the infirmary to grab Daniel, apparently. Red lights aren't going off, Daniel notes. So it can't be too bad. No one running in the corridors, he notices, as he gets into the locker room and starts poking his legs into a new set of BDU pants, yanking on socks, stuffing feet into boots. He peels on a T-shirt, slings on his uniform shirt, buttoning as he goes out the door. He turns around. Mitchell's behind him, and has his glasses for him.

Landry has stepped out into the hall outside his office, waiting for Daniel, looking impatient but not upset. Daniel raises his eyebrows.

"I thought you'd want to hear this yourself, Dr. Jackson," Landry says, and he's, yes, he's smug. He steps back around his desk, but doesn't sit down. Daniel follows him inside, and hovers by the door, folding his arms, puzzled. He feels Mitchell behind him.

"Go ahead, Jack," Landry says to the phone.

Jack's voice comes out of the speaker. "Are you sitting down?"

"I am now," Daniel says, meeting Landry's eyes and sinking into a chair when Landry nods.

"Daniel, your new assignment, is at the Pentagon." Jack sounds brisk and cheery.

"I beg your pardon?"

"We're going to need you here to help with the diplomacy of the transition. The President has decided to announce the program to the public -- three months from today."

"Holy shit," Mitchell says. "Excuse me, sir."

Daniel, speechless, sits there and looks at the phone.

It's a blizzard of emails and xeroxing for the rest of the afternoon. Daniel and Jack agree that if Daniel can have 24 more hours before he gets on a plane, he can come to Washington to stay.

Daniel is decked by the reality of that statement, almost as much as the reality that the program is finally, finally, going public.

At what would be dinnertime, if this weren't a unique kind of emergency, Vala and Mitchell and Teal'c appear in his office. Mitchell is carrying two pizzas. Daniel's sitting at his desk, trying to compose a personal email to Sam, to be sent to Pegasus with the next outgoing batch of nonemergency mail.

Vala puts the boxes on the corner of his desk, opens one, messily extracts a piece, and perches on the arm of his chair to read over his shoulder.

"Tell her 'hi' for me," Vala says. Daniel smiles and starts typing again, interrupting his own sentence with dashes.

"Oh, and Vala is here; she says 'hi,' " Daniel quotes as he types. Vala taps his cheek and he turns his head and there's her pizza slice, so he takes a bite. It's Canadian bacon and pineapple. Not his favorite; Vala's. But there is no type of pizza, after all these years, that Daniel won't eat, and so he chews and thinks and finishes his sentence, with Vala's suggested interpolations. He gets to the end of the email, and ships it off to be sent to Sam.

Then he spins the chair a quarter turn (it's heavy, with Vala sitting there). Teal'c and Mitchell are at the end of the desk, side by side, eating pizza out of the other box, looking solemn.

"Washington's taking my team away, one bite a time," Mitchell says, and illustrates his point by biting into his pizza. Meat supreme combo, Daniel distantly notes.

"This does change everything again," Vala says, and Teal'c nods.

^^^

Jack himself meets Daniel's plane at National.

Daniel walks faster when he sees Jack, who is waiting by the pillar in the baggage claim area, and Jack stands up straight as Daniel closes the distance. Daniel drops his carry-on and hugs Jack one-armed. Jack's arms come around him, tangling with the garment bag that's over Daniel's right shoulder.

It's a long hug, and their cheeks are pressed together. Daniel steps back, but Jack doesn't let go of him. Their eyes meet, and Daniel wonders if Jack's going to kiss him, now that he's, you know, situationally out and all, but Jack doesn't. He steps back, smiling, and picks up the carryon and turns for the door.

^^^

They have one quiet night at Jack's before the meetings start. Daniel's pretty sure he's going to be in meetings for twelve hours a day, six days a week, for the next year.

Jack's tapped him to be the chief civilian liaison for taking the program public, which means the IOA, media, documentation, declassifying, non-IOA foreign governments, the status of Antarctica, everything. And more --through the IOA, it also means dealing with the offworld governments and updating all those treaties.

It's a painfully huge changeover. They've given him Paul as his intermediary with the Air Force. Paul is already working on assembling a staff.

For several years now, General Hammond has been serving in the Cabinet-level position that handles all the offworld operations and the Stargate and the fleet, all masked as a shadow section of Homeland Security. And Homeworld/Pegasus/IOA has evolved into a weird, huge, unwieldy hybrid of interlocking secret sections, some budgeted through Homeland, most through Defense, some through State.

Daniel is very grateful that he won't have to untangle all _those_ budgets as the new department gets its own public infrastructure. He wonders what they'll end up naming it. Because names are very important.

Even though the bulk of the program is overseen by the politically powerful IOA, the vast majority of the line staff is still Air Force, which means Jack's position under Hammond at the Pentagon has had a great deal of practical and operational authority, all this time, no matter what it says on paper about civilian oversight. Daniel has known this for years, from a distance, on the ground and now, he sees how it works up close, here at the center of the U.S.'s power structure. Jack's knack for genial misdirection, and delegation, and his talent for quietly organizing chaos, are all on full display.

This highly political, high-level organizational stuff is all stuff Daniel hasn't really wanted to know. But he has to know it now, and furthermore, to master it. Until now, instead of dealing with the program's domestic infrastructure, he's had his face turned outward -- to the stars, to the new races, to the superhuman enemies. He finds that he's very glad and relieved that his more Promethean sorts of risk-taking are over for the moment, but he misses Elizabeth Weir. She would have loved this part. It would have been right up her alley. She and Jack had found a common ground nearly immediately, he remembers. And under pressure, too.

This is a different kind of pressure than war or invasion or bluffing the gods. It's less frightening, but it goes on longer. It carries its own kind of stress.

But, there are good things. For starters, Jack doesn't let him work on Sundays.

Daniel moves in with Jack, the immensity of that personal step dwarfed, once again, by the demands of the program. They sleep in one bed. They try not to talk shop at home. They fail, except on Sundays. Sundays are, well, sacred. Because Jack makes them sacred. Set apart. They create a ritual, for Sundays. A luxurious, calories-be-damned, home-cooked brunch, usually eggs Benedict. After eating, they read the entire paper, propped on either end of the sofa, with the Sunday morning interview shows quietly droning in the background, just in case. Then they go out to the driveway and bounce the basketball around a little.

Then, usually, a shower, and the best sex of the week -- not quickies, not the I'm-just-going-to-hang-on-because-I-can't-believe-it cuddling. Luxurious, experimental, intense, nothing-off-limits sex.

Then, they nap, and shower again, and then they go somewhere, because Jack insists on getting out of the house, out of the neighborhood. Change of scenery. Somewhere, anywhere. A museum, an exhibit, an arboretum. Anything, as long as it's totally unlike work.

Then dinner in a restaurant, sometimes very far afield. And Jack drives them home in the dark, and Daniel dozes, his head pillowed on the luxurious leather of the Jaguar.

Then Monday, 0800, they both hit it again.

A Wednesday, after about two months of this. Daniel's office phone rings. He's eating a sandwich at his desk and rereading the draft of the new agreement with the Russians, the Russian version and the English version side by side on his blotter.

"Got a copy of an executive order that you might be interested in," Jack says without preamble or greeting.

"What is it this time?" Daniel says, bracing himself. The last executive order that Jack had drawn to his attention had resulted in a huge international spat over whether Atlantis would be recognized as an independent nation, a military base, a branch of the Athosian government, or some newly created entity that no one on Earth even had a name for yet. The implications of all that had still not quite been wrapped up.

Jack says, "The President has chosen Monday to attempt an end-run around Public Law 103-160. With hardly any PR, either."

"Um, which law is that."

"We know it as Don't Ask, Don't Tell."

Daniel puts down his sandwich. He picks up his pen. His hand is shaking, he notices. It's too much. It's just a thing, a blip, in the middle of the other work he's doing. He can't take this in. "Repeal it?" he manages. Is his voice steady?

"Actually the order as drafted, and I'm looking at a draft, basically just contradicts it, and gives a bunch of "emergency powers as Commander in Chief" rationales, and more-or-less dares Congress or the courts to challenge it if they don't like it."

Daniel is silent for a moment. The words "hill of beans" float into his brain and float away again. He finally says, "Can he _do_ that?"

"I guess we're about to find out."

"I guess we are."

"Later." And Jack hangs up.

Daniel ponders this development for a minute and a half.

Something like this was a campaign promise of the President, after all, he recalls. The timing of some things in his life is just beyond coincidental. Not worth worrying about. He pushes aside his personal curiosity (_Jack was captivated enough by this to call me and tell me about it, in the middle of everything else we've got going on..._).

It's a strange line, this line where duty gets personal. He'd crossed it, hardly noticing, in all the excitement, when he married Sha're. Jack had crossed it, too, then, promising to keep Daniel's secret before Jack had really counted the potential cost to his career, and to Kawalsky and Feretti. The enormity of what they'd discovered had made them all reckless.

Daniel ponders, gazing into the distance, lost in the eternal present of memory, before he shakes himself free, out of Sha're's warm embrace, and goes back to comparing Russian and English versions of the new authority for assigning personnel to gate teams.

They work on laying the preparations for telling the world that science fiction is real. They do their best to anticipate all the ways people might panic. They co-opt some of the media. They pray that nothing gets leaked.

The president's directive about homosexuals in the military is disseminated down the chain of command, out through proper channels. There's a buzz in the media, in the middle of all the other buzzing. The buzz peaks, and ebbs, driven off the front page by the rebellion in Tibet, the civil war in Iraq.

Absorbed in his work, Daniel doesn't really think about how the military is getting more, well, rainbow friendly, even here in the bowels of the Pentagon, until one morning he gets to work and unlocks the briefcase he's brought, as usual, from what he is now thinking of, without even a mental hitch, as home.

On top of the pile of his files is a photo in a frame. The frame is black and plain, like the old frame of the photo of Sha're that he'd brought here, when he moved, from his desk at the mountain. He turns back to check. Yes, there is his familiar, much-examined, memorized, photo of his lost Sha're, the one they'd found in Feretti's blood-spattered camera, all those years ago, the first and last photo he ever had of her.

Its frame is a match for the one he holds in his hand. He looks at Sha're, then looks down at the new, unfamiliar photo he's holding.

It's only unfamiliar because it's larger than he remembers, and it's ... formal. Public, somehow, official, when framed like this. The photo is one he took himself, at the cabin. And he knows who blew it up, had it printed, and he knows the choice of frame is not an accident.

Daniel snapped this photo, catching Jack unaware and leaning on the railing of the deck of the Minnesota cabin, a coffee mug in his hand, and Jack looks handsome and relaxed in the early light, dressed in an old cotton sweater and jeans, looking out over the water, peaceful as the morning around him.

Daniel frowns thoughtfully, and runs his tongue over his lips, and he turns to his credenza again and moves the photo of the first SG-1 (taken at a barbecue at Jack's house, more than ten years ago now, by Cassie) a foot to the left. Then he puts Jack's photo there, between the team and Sha're. He looks at his gallery for a moment. Then he goes back to work.

^^^

The preparations are complete. They've planned a solid week of tours and briefings in Washington, at Peterson, and offworld. It's all in place. So far, no reporter has broken ranks and leaked anything. The government seems to be holding its collective breath. The first event will be a joint announcement by the Security Council at the headquarters of the U.N.

It starts tomorrow.

Daniel lies awake, on his back, beside Jack, who is sleeping peacefully, years of training in how to sleep anywhere, under any kind of stress, serving him well, and Daniel thinks about the last two decades of his life, about the strange path that led him from a crazy theory that no one believed, to a position of such responsibility. He feels humble. He feels tired. He turns his back to Jack's, snuggles their butts together, finds Jack's feet with his, and tries to sleep.

^^^

There's a big screen television in the conference room at the Pentagon. The conference room has three tables. The chairs are filled.

Daniel and Jack are sitting at one of the tables. Jack's in uniform. He also, of course, has control of the remote. The A/V technician is at attention next to the little podium with the computer and the projector, but he's just standing there, stiff and ready, with nothing to do.

They all listen and watch, Jack finally impatiently turning the sound down while the announcers babble repetitively about the setup, the lack of information about the purpose of the live, simultaneous news conference, the presence of all national TV networks for each head of state from the Security Council, the logistics of simultaneous news conferences, and over and over, the speculation about what event could possibly be this important.

Finally what Jack had jokingly called the pre-game show is over. The President of the United States is coming to his podium, and adjusting his tie.

Jack brings up the sound.

"He looks so young," Daniel mutters.

The network's beautiful people, blessedly, fall silent. The President grips the sides of the podium, rocks a little as he settles his feet, and addresses the camera.

"Good afternoon. People of Earth," he says, in his Midwestern, well-educated voice, as the camera zooms in a bit, "and I use those words intentionally, what we five world leaders are now about to share with our respective nations is unprecedented news." He pauses, and the microphone picks up the soft drone of Chinese, and of Russian, behind him. "What I am about to tell you will require all our courage, ingenuity and dignity, to face. But I believe that now, as in the past, the American people will be up to this challenge. Myself, and our government, as well as people in these governments represented behind me, have been keeping a secret from you. And it is time for this secret to be revealed."

^^^

It works. Kind of.

There are riots in a few cities. There are religious vigils. There are endless, endless live interviews. The news that Earth is only one of thousands of inhabited worlds, that she has already sent her children to seed them, and that those children have already met other alien races, that wars have already been won and lost out there -- this news drives everything else out of the headlines, for weeks.

Daniel has to do some of the media interviews, after the first wave of announcements and unveilings. He and Sam do a couple together. They don't have much time to talk, but they do manage to reminisce about Thor and Heimdahl and how much they could have helped. Jack escapes the media; a perk of office, he says. He has PR people to do that kind of heavy lifting for him now. Daniel and Sam roll their eyes about being labeled PR people.

When it's finally died down a bit, when the entire world seems to have lapsed into a kind of news hangover, when the first lottery winners of the offworld jaunts have come back and had their turn in the spotlight, Daniel is very grateful.

A Friday night at home, and he and Jack are dining on frozen lasagna and drinking red wine at Jack's table.

"I got us a three-day weekend," Jack says.

"You're totally kidding. Now?"

"Our part of the media circus is pretty much over. We can think about going back to work."

"Going _back_ to work?" Daniel laughs. "What do you call what I've been doing for three months?"

"You know what I mean," Jack smiles at him. "Anyway, I want to run up to Cape Cod for a long weekend. I already made the reservations; I hope you don't mind."

"What's at Cape Cod? Is there a fishing thing there you want to check out?" Daniel pours some more wine for himself.

"No."

"And how did you convince Hammond to let you go now?"

"I told him the truth. I told him I had some urgent personal business that I'd put off for too long, and I needed to finally attend to it."

Daniel frowns his puzzlement. Jack looks at the tablecloth. He reaches down and fiddles with something in his lap, perhaps in his pocket; Daniel can't quite tell because the corner of the table is between them. Jack takes a breath, but pauses again before speaking. He looks up and meets Daniel's eyes.

"This is really hard," he says, obviously trying to get some distance.

"What is?"

Jack holds his gaze, and takes another breath. He smiles, just a little, and pulls whatever it is out of his pocket and puts it on the table. It's an envelope. Daniel looks up at Jack again, frowns. Jack reaches over and covers Daniel's hand with his.

"I guess we can go fishing in Cape Cod, now that you mention it, but that's not why I scheduled the trip. I want to go up there this weekend to --" Jack swallows.

"Get married." They speak at the same time, Daniel finally catching the clue bus. Daniel says, thinking out loud, "We can get legally married in Massachusetts."

"Yeah."

They sit there, holding hands, looking at each other over the dinner dishes. Jack's fingers are cold. Daniel smiles, a slow spread of happiness, brightening his eyes. Seeing it, Jack smiles, too.

"If you want to, of course," Jack says, back to diffident. Understated.

Daniel searches for words. He's not sure what to say, but he wants to say something exactly right. He looks at the envelope, while squeezing Jack's hand. He knows, now, what's in it.

He looks up again. He's got it; the right tone, the right words. The right thing to say. He holds tight to Jack's hand.

"Jack," he says, "I would be honored."

Then he reaches for the envelope and opens it. Two slim, plain rings, just alike, pewter-colored metal polished to a high gleam. Daniel cups them both in his palm, savoring this amazing moment, and finds they are strangely heavy.

"They're made of naquadah," Jack says, and Daniel laughs out loud.

"Of course they are," Daniel says, and leans.

"It seemed appropriate," Jack says, and Daniel kisses him, the edge of the dining table digging into his belly, the metal warming quickly in his hand.

The kiss goes on and on, from romantic to lustful and back again. They separate, and Daniel looks again at the rings. _Symbols,_ he thinks. _Symbols are so important._

"Well, that was kinda anticlimactic," Jack observes, and he pokes at the rings as they lie in Daniel's palm.

Daniel twinkles at him. "Sometimes, you know, that's a good thing."

^^^

The next weekend, they go to Cape Cod. They find a no-reservation colonial-looking wedding chapel, they fill out the paperwork. Standing before the minister, Daniel is calm. It's Jack who's nervous, Jack who tears up during the ceremony, Jack who has mood swings all weekend, from seriously nostalgic to puppy-like happiness. The sex is great.

Then, they go home. Life, as the man says, goes on.

Daniel wears his ring. In fact, after Jack slides it on his finger during their wedding, he makes it a point to not take it off. Ever.

No one at work asks him about it in the week after his return, and he feels just a little disappointed about that.

It fits him perfectly. It absorbs the heat of his hand to a greater degree than gold does, and radiates it back. In cold weather, he especially notices that quality of the naquadah, any time he's outdoors. The ring is warm on his hand, all the time.

About two weeks after their honeymoon trip, Daniel is home, after work, sorting through the mail. He's half expecting a copy of the bill of sale for his car, which he left back in the Springs and which he'd signed over to Vala after she got her driver's license.

No bill of sale today, but there's a card, in the pile of bills and junk, and it's addressed to them both.

_That's unusual,_ he thinks, and he slides a finger under the flap and opens it. It's a Hallmark card -- a wedding card. Daniel's eyebrows go up. Inside, there's a gift certificate for a posh restaurant in Bethesda.

"Congratulations -- Amy and Doug," it says.

"Huh," Daniel thinks, and leaves it tented on the bar, where Jack will see it when he gets home, and goes to the bedroom and starts rooting around for the tie he wore to the President's announcement that took the program public. He knows that restaurant, and it has a dress code. He wonders, smiling to himself, if Jack will wear his dress blues. The thought keeps him warm and chuckling until he hears the front door opening, Jack's familiar tread in the hall.

the end


	2. Forever From This Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JD Junkie wrote this chapter, and it's archived here with her permission -- it's a lovely inset to the main story. It's canon.

The sun is starting to set, painting the sky in broad brush strokes of indigo and red, and the breeze off the sea is falling still as Jack and Daniel walk along the beach at Brewster.

They've been married for four hours and 14 minutes. Not that Jack is counting. He just likes looking at his watch, because that means he can sneak a look at his wedding ring, too. He smiles. It looks right. A perfect fit. Just like him and Daniel.

He enjoys the feel of the sand beneath his bare feet, likes the lapping of the gentle waves over his toes. They wander leisurely along the shoreline.

The beach is almost deserted, save for an elderly woman and a dizzy young Labrador, who are approaching them but still a way off.

He closes his eyes and inhales deeply. He loves the clean, salt air. It clears his head like nothing else. Beside him, Daniel laughs and bumps his left shoulder. A jolt of delight runs through Jack at the simple joy of the touch.

"You really love this outdoors stuff, don't you?" Daniel says, hands in pockets, kicking through the sand.

Jack smiles. "Too many years surrounded by earth and concrete. Here, a man can breathe. And fish."

"Yes," Daniel says, an edge of sarcasm creeping in. "Because it's all about the fishing."

Jack stoops to pick up a periwinkle shell. It looks whole, half buried in the sand, but it is broken. He drops a shoulder and throws the shell into the sea, as if he is skimming stones.

He wipes his hands on his linen shirt. "You sure you don't mind? The boat leaves at 6 am. I'll be back early afternoon. Promise."

"It's fine. I'll go walking, stop for coffee, take a book. Try not to miss you too much." He quirks a half smile, there and gone, but Jack sees it and revels in it.

They walk a little further, enjoying the peace, listening to the soft sough of the waves.

"No regrets?" Jack asks, because he has to, even though a relaxed and happy Daniel tells him everything he needs to know. Daniel has been the calm one all weekend. Jack has swung from anxious to high as kite and back again. Still, he asks.

"About us? This? Do I really need to answer that?" They brush shoulders again. Jack doesn't think it is accidental. Daniel offers reassurance in many ways.

"I don't know. No? Yes? Are you happy?" Jack knows it is a little needy but he has to know. This isn't a small thing they've done here today.

Daniel halts, bringing Jack to a stop alongside him.

"Yes. I'm happy. If I'd realized how happy this would make me, I'd have asked you. Years ago."

"We couldn't have done this years ago," Jack points out, reasonably enough, he thinks.

"Okay, okay. But you know what I mean. I … I love that we did this." Daniel reaches out and cups Jack's face in his hand, rubbing a thumb over a mildly stubbly cheek. "It changes everything … and nothing. We're still the same Jack and Daniel we were," he checks his watch, "four hours and 17 minutes ago."

Jack smiles as he sees Daniel catch sight of his own ring, and brings his left hand up to take Daniel's, twining their fingers and feeling the metal of the rings rub together. It brings an unexpected lump to his throat. Damned emotions. Way too close to the surface today.

Raising their joined hands, he says, "Same Jack and Daniel but naquadah enhanced."

"Yeah," Daniel laughs, uncurling their fingers, an honest to God laugh that delights Jack in indefinable ways.

They resume their walk, the black dog catching Jack's attention as it races into the water and then back to its owner, utterly joyous in its play.

"What are you going to call me now?" Daniel asks, a propos of nothing. It is the kind of non sequitur that Jack should be used to after so many years but that still throws him off his stride.

"Say what?"

"Husband? Spouse? Significant Other."

Jack thinks about that for a moment, then stops walking again.

"No idea. How about 'Hey you' on the phone, 'Daniel' when you piss me off," he moves closer, standing face to face, bodies not touching but close enough that Daniel can feel his breath on his lips, 'Baby' when you come for me."

Jack sees Daniel swallow hard. "I love you," Daniel says suddenly, desperately, his voice cracking on the last word, and Jack has to kiss him because Daniel doesn't say the words often or lightly.

He leans in and brushes his lips over Daniel's in an achingly soft benediction. A quiet affirmation of the words they exchanged earlier.

"Want me to make you call me baby?" Daniel asks, opening eyes that glint with passion and mischief and so much more.

"Really do," says Jack.

They turn around, link their hands together and walk into the sunset.


End file.
